


Blame it on the Booze

by Peaterparker



Series: Fridays at Fury's [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crack, Drunkenness, Gen, His bar is his baby, I am really sorry, I just really love Nick Fury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peaterparker/pseuds/Peaterparker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years Fury has owned that bar and he never had seen anything as ridiculous as Clint Barton.<br/>Or the one where everyone considers Fury a father figure when drunk and Clint is the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame it on the Booze

**Author's Note:**

> You can talk to me about our mutual love and respect for Clint Barton [here](http://www.peaterpurker.tumblr.com)

Friday nights attracted college students and white collar workers, it's been that way since Nick himself had been in college. It had been twelve years since he had graduated college and ten years since he opened this bar. He never had intentions of being a bar owner, mostly because of the fact that he used to help ruin bars when he would go out drinking with his college buddies, but he hasn't regret his decision yet. This bar was everything he owned and invested in, his small one bedroom apartment was up the stairs in the back room and his mother had given him the money for the jukebox in the corner (of course she was also the reason it was broken, but can't throw stones in glass houses). Every morning after they closed it was Fury and his two trusted employees that polished each mahogany table and stacked the chairs to polish the wood floors. The bar was lit by antique gas lights that was left from the previous owners, there were fluorescent signs in the window advertising the alcohol he sold and his name in bright green. There were booths along the walls and tables in the middle, a smoking section and a hallway to the restrooms. He was pretty proud of his business and he openly loved his regulars by taking half their tab or hosting their parties. He worked hard and deserved all the respect he was given. There was just one thing he hated about Friday nights and that was Clint Barton.

"Papa Fury, good to see you made it another week! You know we're all very worried about your health!" Clint sidled up to the bar and leaned his elbows over the edge to grip Nick around his biceps.

See, the thing with Clint is that he had a hard time remembering boundaries after drinking, plus the man was just absolutely too comfortable under Nick's glare and often Maria and Phil had to make him leave the bar and go back to his table before there were words.  Clint was funny, definitely, but when you're the reason he's making jokes then it gets a little tiring. Tonight was any other Friday night, the same groups were settling into their same tables and the newest members of their little happy alcoholic family were settling in at the bar while making small talk with Maria. Nick was running between the back room and the end of the bar, grabbing paperwork and checking their stock room for what needed to be ordered. Phil was manning the kitchen alone tonight and was swearing up a blue streak every time another order came in. It made Nick laugh a little to hear  _Phil Coulson_ tell an order of fries that they were a 'mother fucking cock sucking bitch.' Clint had left after Nick had brushed him off and his table was starting to fill. Nick took a deep breath and forced himself back to his paperwork before hearing Maria clear her throat and mutter a warning of an invading presence.

"Nick, Niiiiiiick, Nicky-man my boy, I have a very serious matter to speak of with you."  Clint was walking over, calling for Nick from across the bar, with Sam Wilson in tow. Nick looked over the men's shoulders and noticed Natasha was looking on in mild interest while Steve was still calling them back to the table.

"What can I do for you guys?" Nick narrowed his eyes and Clint grinned.

"Tell me, us, what your last name really is."  Clint narrowed his eyes while still grinning and Sam just raised an eyebrow.

"Fury. My last name is really Fury." He said flatly.

"Mmmm, and my middle name really is Francis." 

"But-"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Samuel." 

The following conversation, for the next ten minutes, was Clint telling Nick how ironic that a man who hardly talked to anyone but his employees had the last name Fury and that Clint would like proof. Sam tried, relentlessly, to get Clint back to the table to pay for the next round of shots, but the other man just waved him off. Nick finally stood and walked around the bar to where he kept his diploma by the other achievements (Maria had won a shot pouring contest and Phil's Serve Safe diploma) and smirked over Clint's narrowed eyes and shrug of shoulders. He got a free hour to do paperwork and help the bar upkeep with Maria until it reached the Too Drunk time of night. Thor was the first person that Nick had noticed was quite drunk, although if you asked him to act sober he would pull it off with flying colors (weird theater majors). Thor was yelling, but it wasn't anything new, about how the song had finally changed and was worthy of dancing to. It was an hour after that that Nick had figured the entire table was pretty soused. There was a time that Nick called Drunken Church Confessions, where the table sought out any of the employees to confess and ask for help over problems. Nick often didn't give a fuck about what they said and just gave positive grunts when they asked if he was listening. They never really expected him to give advice or say anything, just felt better after speaking.

What he was shocked about was how absolutely  _trashed_ Steve Rogers was. 

"I just, you know? I gave my mom such a hard time as a kid and there was always some mess I was in with Bucky... Oh God, Bucky." Steve sniffled and looked at Nick. "You're a really great man, Nick. You just, you just are so great."

"Please call a cab to get home." Nick said and that was that. Steve laughed and clapped his shoulder before setting his puppy dog eyes on Maria and getting another beer. 

It was four in the morning before he knew it, bar emptied with the tables cleaned and chairs stacked. Maria was counting her drawer and Phil was sitting on the counter in between her and Nick drinking a beer. Nick rubbed tiredly at his eyes and sighed before putting his pen down and closing the folder. 

"Barton left another forty dollar tip." Maria barely held her smirk in and Phil sighed.

"I haven't said a single thing to him in four weeks." Maria looked up at him with her eyebrows raised and Nick chuckled.

Needless to say, Fridays were his favorite.

The next Friday brought a entirely wasted Natasha Romanov to the seat next to his at the end of the bar talking about not remembering her mother and ballet and what was she even doing with her life why was she even here what the fuck was wrong with everyone around her why did bad things happen to good people, which Nick avidly listened to because it was next to never that Natasha drunkenly sought him out and she was secretly his favorite ever. She never expected him to have any advice, she always told him she appreciated how he was a listener and not a speaker.

Clint was busy trying to talk to Phil over Maria's shoulders and Nick took a deep, happy breath before turning back to his paperwork. Maria mentioned a couple times that this Friday seemed different for the usual table of college students that have helped create the family feeling in the bar. Nick never asked what she meant. When he looked up he nearly fell out of his chair as Clint stood on his table and tried to push the ceiling tile up. 

"Clint, get the fuck down." Sam laughed.

"No, you don't understand, if you climb up there your weight will be too much and the other tiles will fall out." Steve pulled on Clint's pant leg.

"Which will cost me a bunch of money that your extra tips can't help pay for, so get the fuck down." 

"And you'll die." Natasha said with a false cheer.

Clint mumbled about 'ruining all the fucking fun Fury' and sat down as he was told. Nick went back to the bar and let the papers suck his soul away even more. Although he wasn't looking around he was still listening and felt an odd weight settle in his chest over Steve talking to Maria.

"So, what, he scared you?" She asked calmly.

"Well, yeah. I mean, the streets are really dark on the way back to my dorm and I have no idea where this guy even came from, an alleyway? But he was there and he was running from something." Steve sounded confused and slightly worried. 

"But then he ran into you and what?" 

"Well, he apologized and took off."

"I don't see why you're reading into this." She said flatly and Steve took a deep breath.

"He might have been the cutest thing I've ever seen? I don't know." 

Nick would never admit it out loud, but he felt proud of Steve. He had watched this poor boy come in a month after Clint and Sam started these friend-group bar nights, where Steve had stuttered and stumbled and was so shy and saw him  become confident with himself and his abilities. He felt like he'd watched Steve become a man and, grudgingly, he admitted that he did feel sort of like a father figure for these people. They always spoke to him when they first entered the bar and offered to buy him a drink to just sit and talk with them for five minutes. Nick was a very proud Papa Fury. 


End file.
